In The Pines
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: "How long was I gone?" Daryl drew up short, startled, though he tried to hide it. Beth had beaten him to breaking the silence, but there had been no build up to her question. "One hundred and sixty-seven days," he replied, not missing a beat. "And sometimes I still think I'm dreaming when I see you. See A/N For warnings.
1. Chapter 1

_This is my take on what happened at the end of Season 4, so I suppose this is AU. Things get dark here, you guys, if you didn't read the tags, then take note now: I don't go in to detail, but there is reference to rape, torture, and I break bones, slit throats, shoot people...it's not a pretty place, okay? And if you're looking to see Beth and Daryl hook up, it ain't gonna happen here. Is there a HEA in store? Let's find out._

_All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine._

* * *

_"__My girl, my girl, don't lie to me; tell me where did you sleep last night?_

"_In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine, I would shiver the whole night through."_

I don't know what day it is. I don't know how long I've been out here. Things got bad when I was taken from Daryl. I didn't stay in Georgia, not my choice, of course. The people who took me, two men, one woman, all dead now, turned the car they threw me in to the north, and now I'm somewhere where the mountains cut the sky and reach up forever. I'd never seen the mountains before now.

I don't know why they took me. They never said. I'd like to think it was for more than sport, or thrill, or bloodlust, but I've got scars deeper than riverbeds, and not all of them are visible. It's sobering to realize what you're capable of when you know your next breath might be your last. I still see red, especially at night, when the winds die down and I've got nothing but the sound of my breath telling me that I'm the one who lived.

I don't cry anymore. I haven't since that summer before Zach died. It's not hard to do; you don't forget, you just don't linger on the _why_ too long. Thoughts of Maggie are faded; my daddy's smile is almost gone from my memory, and I can't quite remember what Judith sounded like when she laughed.

But I remember Daryl. I remember everything he ever taught me, directly, or otherwise. I watched him a lot in those last days because I knew that he was a survivor. At the time, I didn't want to think about the idea of losing him, of being without him – I wouldn't have survived those days after we lost the prison if I hadn't been with him. They took the knife he'd given me on the second day, and I'd made sure to get it back and show them all the things I remembered.

I told myself, when I was curled in the backseat of that car, crouched on the floor, held there by booted foot and loaded gun, that this was a test. The only way I would survive was to put away everything that had ever meant anything to me, to shelve it, contain the delicate emotions and only let those lose that would help me. Fear didn't come in handy. But anger did. Hope was something I'd seen in Daryl's eyes our last morning together, and I'd never seen it more clearly, not even when Rick held Judith in the fading daylight when she'd been first born. But hope seemed very far away, like it was fading just as fast as faces, and one night, kept under watch in some cabin, I had a terrible thought: my hope was fading, and along with it, so was Daryl's.

I never wanted to see anger, or fear, or loneliness, or anything else ugly, ever settle inside of Daryl again. My fingers flexed, crooked, mending bones aching in the damp cold that had sunk around the shelter I had come to loathe. My hands remembered Daryl's, and the way he'd held on as we walked on graves. He didn't cling with desperation, but rather expectation. He didn't expect me to ever let go. I needed to let him know that I hadn't, not yet, but I was slipping. I wasn't too far gone that I didn't notice.

* * *

_This story would have never, ever, ever gotten off the ground without the epic support of incog_ninja, who through her patience and infinite wisdom, and never ending flailing, steered me in the right direction, gave me guidance when I needed it, read, and re-read all of my revisions, and both laughed and cried when it was appropriate. *twirly heart*_

_The name of this story, and the opening quote, are from a song entitled "In the Pines," a folk song that dates back to the 1870's. It was made most popular by Nirvana on their unplugged album, and there it was called "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?" Suffice to say, it's on my soundtrack. When I've got the complete listing, I'll post a link to it here._


	2. Search

_Now is not the time for fear. That comes later._

"Hard to believe there's still stuff out here for the taking," Carl mumbled, rifling through the shelves of the Gateway Grocer.

Beside him, Michonne made a noise of agreement as she gathered canned goods from the shelves and stowed them into her pack. She'd been quiet all morning, mentioning 'something' in the air as they left their shelter, but what, she wasn't sure. She'd been on high alert during the half-day trek from the homestead they'd fortified last spring, her dark eyes sweeping the deserted streets of the little community. The walk, however, had been blissfully uneventful, and the samurai had relaxed slightly, chattering casually with Carl as they began a routine sweep of the store. Daryl was with them, and had made a beeline for the back of the building, muttering something about "Maggie's damn list," and left Carl and Michonne to gather what they could for food.

When Michonne had finished stashing creamed corn (she made a face) and baked beans (another sigh), she clicked her flashlight on and ducked her head, making sure she hadn't missed anything. "Even at the end of the world, nobody likes baked beans. That's all that's left," she joked, squinting in the bright stream of light from the flashlight.

She grinned suddenly, and a small laugh chortled in her throat. "Hey," she spoke, addressing Carl as she reached to the back of the shelf and curled her fingers around her new found glory. "Feel like arm wrestling?"

Carl turned and smiled broadly at the Kit Kat dangling between Michonne's long fingers. "You're on," he agreed. He shouldered his pack and nodded towards the front counter where the cash registers sat, silent and untouched for almost five years now. "Hey, Daryl," Carl called over his shoulder.

"Yeah," the gruff reply came from somewhere near the pharmacy.

"Come judge this so Michonne doesn't cheat again."

Michonne balked at Carl and shoved him playfully. "I don't _cheat_," she insisted. She wrapped a hand around Carl's bicep and looked him straight in the eyes – he'd grown during the summer. It was October, more or less, and he was the same height as her, soon to go past that and catch up to Rick. Hell, he'd probably even be taller than him. "Sides, you've toughened up, Grimes. Bet you could take me this time." She moved to one side of the counter, gesturing for Carl to take his place on the other side.

"What now?" Daryl sighed, rounding the corner, shoving the meager pill stash he'd found into his pack, and spotting Carl and Michonne squaring off over the counter. "What are the stakes?"

Placing their right elbows on the counter, the kid and the samurai grinned before locking in their grips. "Chocolate bar," Carl announced, nodding to where the Kit Kat lay in its shiny red wrapper.

Daryl rolled his eyes and huffed. "Just hurry up."

"Yeah, yeah," Michonne muttered. "This may take some time – I don't plan on letting him off easy this time."

"Bring it on, M," Carl smirked, flexing his fingers around Michonne's hand. "Daryl, say when."

Daryl scanned the darkened store and let his eyes flit back to the pair about to arm wrestle. "Yeah, whatever. Go."

Arms tensed, and stances grew rigid, feet connecting to the floor as Carl and Michonne went for broke, grunting and grinning in surprise at each other's strength.

"Good arm, kid," Michonne growled, digging in and gaining leverage once more.

"Kid?" Carl blew out, ruffling his hair from his eyes. "I'm almost sixteen, you know."

"Still a kid," Michonne grunted, determined not to let him win easily. She knew he was going to win; he was wiry and strong, and hauling back on the string of Daryl's crossbow all summer as the archer taught him the finer points of hunting, had fortified solid shoulder and back muscles.

"Give it up, ol' lady," Carl chuckled, turning the tables and coming over the top. He'd barely broken a sweat, and Michonne's forehead was beaded as she curled her lip up with exertion.

She scoffed at his remark and took another breath, trying for one last heave to make him eat his words, but Carl was solid, and he was focused, something that Michonne admired for a kid his age. Growing up at the end of the world certainly did something for a young person. She flexed her arm, unwittingly giving Carl an opening, and she cried out in defeat as the back of her hand met the table. With a whoop of triumph, Carl pulled free of Michonne's grasp and threw his hand in the air.

"Yes!" He yelped, smacking his hand down on the glass for good measure. "Who's the champion!"

Michonne sighed, but chuckled at Carl's exuberance. "Good show, kid." Standing up straight, her hand went for the Kit Kat to present to Carl. It wasn't there, and that was when the audible crunching, and rustling of cellophane drew her eyes towards Daryl.

He was licking his fingers clean of chocolate, his cheek bulging out with an obvious mouthful of crispy wafers and milk chocolate. "Whut?" He muttered, flicking crumbs from his vest.

Carl groaned and threw his hands up, before shooting an incredulous look towards Daryl. "Seriously?"

Daryl shrugged. "Hungry," he muttered. "Needed a break."

Michonne snickered and shook her head, clapping Daryl on the shoulder. "You could have shared," she chided.

He shrugged again, feeling not the least bit guilty for consuming their prize. "C'mon. We need to head back. It'll get dark, soon."

With a frustrated growl, Carl hefted his pack up and slung it over his shoulders. Michonne followed suit, and together, the three of them slipped out into the early afternoon sun and turned east.

* * *

Something wasn't quite right. Daryl had taken note of Michonne's sense of unease that morning, but had worn off as soon as they entered the grocer. Carl's occasional grumbling over the chocolate bar had eventually died down as the trio eased into the trees. Daryl had signaled for silence, and Carl and Michonne had fallen into position automatically – silently flanking the archer in a standard 'V' formation, trailing behind him as he took point. With a quick glance at Michonne, Daryl gave a faint nod, which she returned. That unease was back, and the forest grew more silent as they pushed in. It wasn't walkers; they would have heard the undead coming. There was nothing, no birds, no small animals under the fallen leaves, nothing. The air had stilled, too, the wind dying down, and the sun was exceptionally hot for the season. It was stale, and hazy in the woods, and it felt like the air had been sucked out when they stepped in. Daryl's shoulders twitched.

With one smooth movement, he swung the loaded crossbow up and pressed the stock into his shoulder, and his steps crossed over as he sank down low and scanned the woods for anything. Casting a sideways glance, he caught the flash of Michonne's blade as it sailed silently from its sheath on her back, and her dark eyes cut to his for a second, before she stepped ahead, her knees bent, legs ready to attack, or run, whichever seemed more prudent. Daryl then looked to Carl. The young man had picked up on something, and was easing past a wide copse of pecan trees, Jessamine creepers tangling along the trunks. His hand hovered over the 9mm pistol fitted with the barrel silencer he'd fashioned in the prison, and though his steps were less stealthy, he was still cautious.

But even as Carl stepped past the trees, Daryl knew something was coming, and he barely had time to grunt the kid's name before hands reached out, grabbing onto Carl's pack, and neatly hauling him back. A knife blade flashed, and Daryl swore, before arcing the crossbow and aiming past Carl's head, focusing on the stranger.

Carl struggled, surprised, and wrapped a hand around the wrist that pressed the blade against his throat. The stranger's other hand wound up and clapped a hand over his mouth, twisting his head to one side, effectively shutting him up. He couldn't see anything beyond Daryl standing, aiming a bolt, and the perfect sting of the blade made his whole body stiffen as it bit into the flesh under his chin.

"Call em' off," a feminine voice rasped.

Carl wiggled, twisting his face out of her cold fingers. "You alone?" he tried.

The hand that slipped from his mouth slid back into his hair and his head was yanked back, the tip of the blade settling into the hollow of his throat. "I don't want to hurt him!"

Daryl's finger caressed the trigger of the crossbow as he weighed the situation. Carl's attacker was female, and going on that, he deduced she was alone. If she'd been with others, he guessed a man would have attacked. He couldn't make out anything beyond a tattered grey cap she had pulled down over her head, and a dirty length of material she'd wound about her nose and mouth. All Daryl could really see was her eyes, and where she held the blade against Carl's throat. But her eyes were frantic, and they darted about. Daryl flicked his gaze to the right, and found that Michonne had vanished.

Daryl lowered the crossbow, his focus still alert and on the girl, but the threat gone. He knew Michonne was circling behind the girl as he straightened, and let his finger leave the trigger. He held up his free hand. "Don't want any trouble. You alone out here?"

The girl didn't answer, and instead made short work of the straps of Carl's pack, slicing them with a quick flick of her wrist. The pack fell with a metallic thud, the cans of food clicking together, and she kicked it behind her. Her fingers flexed around the handle of the knife. "I'm taking this," she said by way of the pack. "And I'm leaving. Don't follow me."

"It's all right," Daryl murmured, taking a cautious step towards her and Carl. "He ain't gonna hurt ya none. Ease off."

"Don't come any closer," she warned, pulling Carl back against her.

Carl strained, craning his neck, trying to see something – anything – and ended up with a knick under his chin. He hissed, and then swore again as the fingers in his hair tightened.

Daryl switched tactics. "You're alone? Come with us. We have food. Shelter. You can stay until you get your strength back. Don't do something you'll regret."

The girl chuckled, and in a flash she'd released Carl, shoving him away and into Daryl. She stooped and scooped up the pack, and then turned to bolt.

Michonne's blade flashed in the afternoon light. "Leave the pack," she warned.

The girl staggered back, a soft exclamation leaving her. Her eyes widened, and then she shut them, and shook her head furiously. "You're not real," she growled, before opening her eyes once more and advancing on Michonne.

It could hardly be called a struggle. The girl was so undernourished that Michonne easily avoided her advances, knocking the knife free with the hilt of the sword. Kicking one leg out, she tripped the girl, spun her in the process, and put her on her knees facing Daryl and Carl.

With the tip of her blade pressed between the girl's shoulders, Michonne watched as Daryl stalked forward. Michonne swooped down and plucked the knife from the deadfall and tossed it to Daryl, who caught it by the handle and inspected it. His blood ran cold as he recognized the hilt. The last time he'd seen this knife, it was tucked into Beth's belt. He bit his tongue at the memory, and didn't dare to hope. Instead, he snarled at the girl before him. "Where'd you get this?" he demanded, standing over the girl.

She shook her head, her thin shoulders shaking. A second later a wretched sob sailed up. Daryl's hand snatched the cap from her head, and a fall of bright blonde hair fell forward, the tips brushing her chin. "I said where'd you get this?" he barked, bending down to look into her eyes.

She blinked furiously, her clear blue eyes wide, and wet with tears. Daryl's heart hammered in his chest almost painfully as he took in the upper features of her face, her high forehead streaked with dirt and road grime, and a thin, silver scar running through one dark eyebrow. He growled, and dug his fingers into the cloth that wrapped the girl's face, yanking it down, leaving it to hang at her throat. Gripping her chin, he forced her face up to his gaze.

"Beth," he breathed, before stumbling back. His eyes widened as he struggled to take her in.

Behind him, Carl swore out loud, and stomped through the grass. He froze where Daryl had fallen to his ass, and gaped at the girl they all thought was gone.

Beth stared hard at Daryl, her gaze falling out of focus. "Oh, Daryl," she sighed, sagging back on her heels. "I've been looking everywhere for you." She laughed once, light, and airy, and hysterical, before going limp, and falling sideways into the dead leaves.


	3. Lost

_A/N Remember those triggery things I mentioned? They're mentioned here, including rape, suicide, and torture. Be warned._

* * *

Cool, cotton sheets floated over my legs. My eyes were closed, but I knew it was mornin' because it was all red, and I felt warm, and I smelled the jasmine that was planted in the bed below my bedroom window. Sleepin' late on Saturdays was my favorite. Maggie was the early riser, and I could hear her voice rising and falling as she paced the hallways, no doubt on the phone with one of her girlfriends from college. Turning to my side, I curled into the pillows, smelling the laundry detergent Mama used, and the sunshine that had dried it when it had hung on the line outside the kitchen door. Bacon was frying downstairs. Coffee had been made. The oak tree outside my window swayed in the breeze, the leaves rustling.

_I curled my fingers into the pillow, frowning at the stiffness in them, how they didn't close into a tight fist anymore. That wasn't right. I scratched at my wrist, an itch suddenly blooming to almost unbearable levels. My fingertips encountered gauze, and tape, and I hissed as my wrist stung and ached. When I opened my eyes, I was in Annette's room. My jeans were dusty. The house was quiet. Maggie was sitting in the wing back from the guest room down the hall – she must have dragged it in. There was a rusty stain of dried blood on the bandage on my wrist, and I sat up, tearing at the tape that held the bandage in place. Maggie shifted in her sleep, but didn't wake, and I could hear sounds of panic rising in my throat, moans and whimpers. I pulled the gauze back and bled bright red, a fountain, pouring from a four-inch cut to the inside of my wrist, and found that I still clutched the shard from the broken bathroom mirror._

"_Bet right now you wish that had worked, don't ya?"_

I woke up screaming.

I felt hands on my shoulders, and someone murmured my name, but those last words, mocking, violent and brutal, stuck with me. _He_ had said it to me, the one with the gray eyes, the one who was the vilest. He'd stood over me, my knife in his hand, tracing the long, thin scar on the inside of my wrist with the tip of the blade, the one that hadn't gone deep enough, and he'd spoken my darkest thought out loud. Then he'd held me down and yes, I'd wished I'd died that day they left Andrea to watch me.

I screamed until I was hoarse, and the fight left me, and I struck someone, the satisfying crack of my fist against a face, my feet tangled in the sheets on a strange bed in a strange place. Surrounded by strangers. I saw them all – Rick, and Glenn, Carl, and Maggie, and Daryl. Daryl, hovering in the shadows, watching from the corner, his fists tight, his face tense, as the others moved to try and calm me.

"Don't touch me!"

My protest rang out, and everything stopped – the hands, my name, everything. They backed away, and I shied from the light from the open window.

"Please," I murmured. "Close the blinds." I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes and tucked my head to my chest.

Footsteps faded away, and the door closed, and I thought I was alone again.

"Bethie," Maggie said hesitantly, her knuckles brushing my bare arm.

I hissed and pulled away. "Don't."

She sighed. "Bethie, I was so worried…"

"I'm fine," I said flatly. "I'm alive."

"I know," Maggie continued. "And you don't know how happy that makes me – makes _all_ of us." She paused and laughed a little. "You gave Carl quite a scare."

"Carl," I repeated. The name sounded foreign to me.

"In the woods – you don't remember?"

No, I didn't remember. I didn't remember what had happened, or really, who Carl was, or she was, or even who I was. I didn't even know if this was real. "Where am I?"

"Safe. You're safe." Maggie's voice broke.

"No such thing," I muttered, shifting to the side of the bed that Maggie wasn't perched on. She was too close; I could smell the soap she'd used, feel the heat from her body. Pulling my hands from my eyes, I finally afforded her a glance. I didn't recognize her; or I barely did. There was something in her smile, maybe, that made me think of her, and someone else, but I wasn't sure.

With a tilt of her head, she frowned, and slowly reached her hand up, making me flinch. She didn't waver, however, and gently touched the ends of my hair where they fell to my chin. "You cut your hair."

I pulled away and tucked the strands behind my ear, and turned my face to the wall.

"Are…are you hungry?"

I shook my head, and looked down at my hands in my lap. My crooked fingers twisted each other.

"Have some water, at least? When was the last time you ate anything?"

"Just leave it," I snapped. "Leave me."

"Bethie…"

"_Don't_ call me that." I afforded her another glance, wondering if it was a trick of the light, or a trick of my mind, that made the sunlight filter around her chestnut colored hair. "You're not here," I said. "You're not real." My head began to hurt.

Maggie smiled through her tears. "Of course I'm real."

* * *

"_If you cry, so help me, Beth, I'm never takin' you anywhere with me again." _

_I swallowed my fear and nodded at Maggie, and then quickly followed her across the field to the deserted farm house down the lane from our place._

"_And don't tell Daddy, either."_

_A sharp slap to my face woke me, and my lip split open, splashing blood onto my thick tongue. My mouth was dry, rusted, and I groaned in pain as a sliver of light pierced my sensitive eyes. I shied away from it._

"_I said you got family? Got people lookin' for ya? Or was it just him – that dirty son-of-a bitch you were tagging along with?"_

"_No," I croaked, shuffling back along the dirt floor of my hovel._

"_You fuck him?"_

_My body lurched at the harsh words. I'd never been with Daryl, not in that way. It wasn't like that between us, and someone trying to make it something it wasn't made me seethe._

"_Fuck _you_," I growled._

_He chuckled. "I bet you did," he continued, crouching down so that his face was in mine. It was the one with grey eyes. Dead, flat, grey eyes; and he was smiling all the time, but there was nothing behind it. I shivered, and I cursed to myself for giving him the idea that I was afraid of him. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood again, as he slid his hand from the inside of my thigh up the fly of my jeans. "You a good fuck, babydoll?"_

_If I'd had something in my stomach, I'm sure it would have come up. As it was, my guts still twisted, and my mouth filled with the taste of salt and bile._

"_Maybe I shoulda stuck around t'ask yer man," he went on. "Ask him which was tighter – your pussy, or your ass. But since he ain't here t'tell me, I'll just have to find out for myself." His fingers tore at my belt buckle._

"_No!" I lashed out as best I could, swinging my foot up and catching him on the inside of his knee._

_He bellowed, and buckled forward, catching himself on his hands. He snarled in my face, the sight so frightening that I screwed my eyes shut and clawed at him with curled fingertips and dirty, jagged nails. I felt his skin break, heard him howl, and he pushed me back. Staggering to his feet, he snared my ponytail and held me steady. "Look at me," he demanded lowly. When I didn't answer, I felt his hot, rank breath against my face. "Look at me!"_

_I cried out, startled, and my eyes shot open. Three angry, red claw marks ran over his eye and down his cheekbone. His lips were pulled back from his teeth, and his spittle flew wildly as he spoke, "I wanna see that pretty face all fucked up with pain."_

_His foot came down on my hand that had damaged his face, and I heard bones snapping under the guttural sounds of my screams. Pain, unimaginable, angry, blazing hot pain exploded in my hand, and wound its way up my arm, and only intensified as he ground his heel, and his message, home._


	4. Ghost

_I switch back and forth between first person from Beth's POV, and third person omniscient, but it's fairly easy to follow. More trigger things here, so please be warned._

* * *

"You sure you don't want your sister here?"

I shook my head at Bob, and watched as he hesitated in the doorway of the bathroom. As the closest thing to a doctor after Daddy died, he'd volunteered to give me a once-over to make sure I wasn't suffering any more than dehydration, and malnutrition.

"Maybe I should get Sasha…"

"Just get it over with," I interrupted him, already unbuckling the heavy brown belt slung around my hips. My jeans went next. As I tugged my shirt up over my head, I heard Bob's sharp intake of breath as his eyes settled on the jagged scar over one hipbone. When I'd wrestled my shirt off of my head, however, he was busying himself with washing his hands in a basin of heated water, turning his back to me in some modicum of privacy.

I hopped onto the counter, my heels banging softly on the cupboard doors, and stared at the doorknob as he started his initial examination. Slowly, his fingers trailed over my head, looking for contusions, soft spots, anything that would signal a head injury. They slid to my neck, and I forced myself to remain still as he pressed against my jaw, my throat, and my collarbones.

"You feel like talking?" His tone was light, unobtrusive, and his hands moved methodically, skimming over the small scars that were left behind on my arms. When he got to my hands, he slowed, and turned them over. He stopped breathing as he inspected first my left hand, and then my right, noticing the start difference between joints and fingers.

My eyes met his and I pulled both hands away, gripping the edge of the counter again. "I like the mountains," I began slowly.

"You were in the mountains?"

I nodded. "I've only been to the ocean twice." I paused, and frowned. "I think."

"You don't remember?"

I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply through my nose. "_No_," I snapped. "I _don't_ remember."

"Do you remember me?"

I shrugged, noticing how Bob skipped over the scar on my hip, and basically anything covered by my underwear, and went straight to my legs. I let him hold my feet as he bent my knees, and straightened them, and then rotated my ankles. The left one had an echo of heat, and pain, and I jerked when he twisted it just right.

"That hurt?"

"I got caught in a fox trap."

Bob hummed, and crouched down, checking for external damage. "How long ago?"

"How long was I gone?"

"No," Bob replied, shaking his head. "How long ago did you hurt your ankle?"

"Well, how long was I gone? Because it happened the day before they took me."

Bob glanced up at me with uncertainty.

I shrugged again. "Ask Daryl. Are we done?" I slid off the counter as Bob stood, and stepped back. I picked up my jeans, and grabbed my shirt, stuffing them into a bundle under my arm. Slinging my belt over my shoulder, I opened the bathroom door and glanced back at Bob. "Do I pass?"

He didn't say anything, and I shrugged, and stepped into the dark hallway.

* * *

She lurked around the place like a ghost, avoiding the light, and day, and sticking to the shadows. She didn't really speak to anyone, though Rick mentioned that he'd had some semblance of conversation with her that first week. She avoided Maggie, but really, Daryl couldn't blame Beth. Maggie hovered, and was impatient, two things that Daryl knew Beth didn't need at this time.

Not much had been discerned about what happened to her beyond Bob's initial physical examination of her. Her fingers had been broken, and Daryl's guts twisted painfully as he thought of all the horrible ways that might have happened. His own pinkie was still slightly crooked from where his father had popped it with a ball peen hammer for spilling paint in the garage. He made a face then. Beth had fought back, and fought back hard. Hell, he had, and he'd only been ten at the time. He remembered being scared, and hurt, and most of all, he remembered being alone. His mama had been up by Cuthbert, visiting her sister, and _nobody_ knew where Merle was. Remembering what he'd learned when Merle had caught his fingers in a fence outrunning Lloyd Campbell's Rottweilers, Daryl had splinted his finger as best he could. Then, he'd hid in a deer blind a quarter mile from the house, holding up for two days, living off of apple juice and peanut butter sandwiches. Eventually he'd climbed down, but his daddy had been too drunk to notice him gone, and too drunk to remember what had even happened. He'd been lucky, he supposed, and had avoided his father whenever he could.

The roughly healed skin around Beth's wrists told him she'd been held captive, and that she'd fought it, too. The scar through her eyebrow was still a mystery, and Bob had muttered something about bigger scar over her hipbone. Daryl didn't want to know about it, and he didn't want her having to relive it by telling someone. Those kinds of scars didn't ever heal all the way. He knew that.

But he also knew how strong Beth was, or had been. After all, she'd been the one to drag his ass back from reverting into the nothing he'd been in Merle's shadow. She'd burned him down along with the house, cremating the last bits of Daryl Dixon _before_ the world went to shit, and reminding him that he _was_ worth something, invaluable to her. Only a select few had been able to do that before she came along: Andrea had died, and at the time he wasn't sure he'd ever see Rick again.

When he'd taken Beth with him when the prison was lost, he had been uncertain about his course of action. The first few days with her had been a trial, with her chirping voice, and little anecdotes, and that damned incurable desire to get a drink. If there was one thing that had been solidified in Daryl's mind during his time with Beth, it was that people were never what they appeared to be on the surface. She had her scars early on, too, and they overlapped, but now it was an angry web, criss-crossing, and playing with her mind. Being alone in a world with living, breathing people was one thing, but being alone where the dead roamed among the living and out numbered them five thousand to one was completely different.

He'd spread a map out on the kitchen table the day after he'd found her, and pieced together the little bits of information she'd given up in her sleep, or in a rare moment of candid speech when she was completely lucid, and understanding of her situation. He guessed she'd been in Tennessee, on the southern end of the Appalachian range. The mention of the mountains had piqued Rick's interest, and Daryl couldn't deny that he was curious about them, too. Would they fare any better in higher elevations than they would down here? Ever since the prison had fallen, no place was deemed one hundred percent safe, but they all worked their hardest to fortify the land they had now, constructing fences and 'alarms', still posting watches, still organizing runs, but always ready to run. He wondered if they'd ever settle. He knew the thought weight heavily on Rick, too.

The real concern, of course, was Beth's state of being, and so Rick had held off on questioning, like he was prone to do, and they all stood back, and watched, and waited for something of the Beth they all knew to come back to them. Daryl knew they waited in vain. The girl they'd known had been cut out and left up in the Appalachians. The Beth that had come home was just as lost, and he was determined to find her, whatever it took.

* * *

"Well, there's something I didn't expect to see."

Daryl glanced up from the map he was pouring over of the area Beth had supposedly covered. Rick was seated beside him at the kitchen table, but his attention was focused out the kitchen window. Daryl followed his line of sight, and blinked.

"Huh," he breathed.

Outside, Beth charged across the lawn in nothing but her bra and panties. A bundle of cloth was wedged underneath one arm, and her wide belt was slung over her other shoulder.

"Where is she going?" Rick murmured, already rising from his seat.

"I got her," Daryl announced, already at the kitchen door, and pulling it open.

He slipped down the steps with light feet, and kept his eye on Beth as he trailed behind her. The way she'd come on them in the forest the day before told Daryl that she had learned to read her surroundings. He bit back a curse at that. It was just another reminder that he'd let her down. If he'd been more careful, she wouldn't have had to perfect the basic skills he'd had the time to teach her on her own.

She walked quickly, and with purpose, moving towards the stream that ran along the property and lent to the group's water supply. He had a good idea of what she was doing. Sometimes even _he_ felt crowded in that house, and everyone had their own room. He didn't know if anyone had told her they hauled water in from the pump behind the house, but he figured that even if she did know, it wouldn't have mattered. He slowed as she neared the bank and edged her way down to the waterline, dropping her clothes to one side before she sank to her knees.

"You spying on me?"

Daryl froze, and then bristled, her tone caught somewhere between teasing and accusing. And, at first he hadn't even registered she was talking to him, until she turned and looked in his direction where he'd crouched behind a group of honeysuckles. He quickly stood, and stepped around the bushes, eyeing her carefully.

"No." He winced at his sullen reply.

Beth didn't say anything, and merely shook her clothes out, and inspected the darkest stains. Daryl quickly looked away, knowing that the dirt and blood was ground in deep. He patted down his pocket and came up with the small tin of detergent Sasha had concocted out of lye and ash, and tossed it to the bank beside Beth.

She glanced at the tin, and then picked it up. After opening it, she sniffed the contents, deemed them acceptable, and began scrubbing her clothes.

"Y'know, we gotta lot of clothes back up at the house. Can find ya somethin' t'wear while your stuff dries."

Beth paused, her shoulders and back rigid, and she glanced at Daryl from over her shoulder. "Does my current state upset you?"

Daryl blinked at her reply. Whoever this girl…this _woman_ was in front of him, she was a far cry from the Beth he'd come to know in the short time they'd been together. He shook his head in reply to her question, and Beth went back to work.

"You don't have to hover," she said a while later, as she rinsed her clothes and shook them out, satisfied with her work. "Ain't like I can't take care of myself."

Daryl sighed, sagging against the tree he'd leaned against. "I know."

"So why are you here?"

He pushed away from the tree and began to pace behind her. "Dunno. Just figured…hell, Beth, I don't know." All the emotions he'd been keeping in check since he'd found her in the forest were churning his guts, and he was dangerously close to letting loose all the fear and doubt and anger he'd bottle up since he watched that car tear up the dirt road in the middle of the night. "Why are you here?" He turned the tables on her.

"Washing my clothes," she muttered. "Ain't it obvious?" She stood then, and turned to face him, and her eyes dared him to look anywhere but her face.

Daryl bit his tongue, his jaw tensing with Beth's challenge. He wasn't a fool; something had passed between them in those last days before she was gone. Something more than survival in numbers, more than friendship. When the taillights of the car that took her haunted him at night, he lay awake, listening to the steady breathing of Carl and Michonne, and wondered where he and Beth were headed. He'd had some foolish notions, and some fleeting, but the hot, searing fist that clutched his heart when she'd looked up at him, the short strands of blonde hair framing her face, had told him that those feelings were valid, and hadn't really gone anywhere. The piece he'd felt was missing had slid a little closer into place, but the puzzle wasn't complete.

"Do you not want me here?" Beth continued, her face a mask of indifference.

Daryl pursed his lips. "Don't say that."

Jesus, Beth was a jumbled mess. He could see that, plain as day. He knew the look in her eyes, the defiance in her voice, and the stiffness in her shoulders. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been plagued by the same things. The actions that had brought her to her current state of being may not have been exactly the same as his, but they were close enough, and that made him sick. Nobody should have to go through what he did – abuse, torture, helplessness – especially Beth. Despite his attempt to keep his eyes firmly within her gaze, they wandered, taking in the way her collarbones stood out, pressing against her pale skin. The skin was marred, too, with grime, and scars, and cuts and bruises he knew would never quite heal. When he saw the curve of reddened, knitted flesh over her hipbone, he swallowed thickly and looked away, out into the trees.

"Damaged goods too much for you to handle, Daryl?"

He growled, and felt his face grow hot. His eyes snapped back to hers. "We're all damaged at this point. I'm sorry…"

Beth sighed, stepping into the water until she was up to her knees. "For what? I heard you, you know." Her eyes grew distant then as she crouched down to the water and sluiced handfuls over her skin. The water had to be close to freezing at this time of year, but she didn't flinch or shiver, and merely looked at her arms as she spoke. "Heard you calling my name, heard the gravel kick up under the car." She looked across the water to him once more. "I tried to be so quiet." Her voice was eerily calm.

Daryl's heart was in his throat, but he didn't say anything, and he didn't move a muscle.

Beth's gaze fell to her hands. "The more I screamed, the more they liked it. The more they did to me." She looked back to the forest, cocking her head to one side. She sounded like she was was talking more to herself, than to him.

She stood suddenly, and waded up to the bank, her bare feet silent over the dead leaves. Daryl stood unmoving as Beth approached, her face turned up to his, her blue eyes sharp, and having seen too much. He let her get close, stand toe to toe with him, her body pressing into his, but it didn't do for him the things it had done before. When she'd wrapped her hands around him all those days ago, she'd been warm, and pliant, letting him fall into her. When she'd taken his hand in the graveyard, when she'd clung to his back as he carried her forward, she'd been smooth, and soft, and she'd smelled sweet. She was air. She'd been light.

Now, she was a pillar of stone: cold, unflinching, and hard against his body. She pressed against him, moving into his space so that her chest was against his, the leather of his vest against the damp and dirt on her skin. He swallowed thickly, his hands curling to fists at his side. She smelled like blood. She smelled like the dark, and like someplace deep in the woods in the shadows of his memories.

"I tried to be quiet," she breathed, looking up at him, her face void of any feeling. Pressing up to her toes, she moved so that her mouth hovered near his ear. "And the whole time you were screaming in my brain."


	5. Familiar

_Thanks for all the niceness and reviews and follows and faves._

* * *

I stared past the tops of the trees, trying to find the outline of mountains. It wasn't there, of course. I don't know why I was looking for it; nothing good had come from there, but I yearned for it in some way. Maybe I was mourning the loss of something, of part of myself. Maybe I thought it would help me remember all the things that Maggie had said were me. I didn't feel right. I hadn't felt safe since I woke in that upstairs room, with all those eyes watching me. I took another sip from the bottle of water between my feet.

Tiny footsteps pattered beside me, hesitant, and then drumming forward, only to pause again. "Beff," a little voice said. "Beff, Beff, Beff."

I glanced sideways at the toddler, at her long legs, her grubby knees, and the way her hands twisted the bottom of the stained t shirt she wore. "Beff?" she asked.

Tiny footsteps pattered beside me, hesitant, and then drumming forward, only to pause again. "Beff," a little voice said. "Beff, Beff, Beff."

I glanced sideways at the toddler, at her long legs, her grubby knees, and the way her hands twisted the bottom of the stained t shirt she wore. "Beff?" she asked. Her thick, dark lashes fluttered around her black eyes, and for a second, someone else stared back at me, making me shiver.

I ignored her, and turned back to the trees.

She was persistent, and remembered me. She'd been through so much, in such a short amount of time, that I didn't know _why_ she'd remembered me. I used to sing to her, but I didn't remember the words. A small hand settled in my hair, and my teeth clenched as I forced myself not to lash out. I shifted on the step, away from her curiosity, but she merely followed, not one to be dissuaded.

"Beff," she lisped again, this time tugging on my hair.

"Go away," I muttered, shouldering her aside. "I don't feel much like singin'."

"Row row?"

God, she was talking now. I'd missed so much. Children were an excellent measure of passing time. With a sigh I screwed the cap onto the top of the bottle, and picked up the sweater I'd found in the stash of clothing I'd pawed through after I'd returned from the stream.

I didn't know how to tell her I couldn't do what she wanted. Telling her 'no' seemed like a cop-out. When she was a baby, I'd whisper all my thoughts to her, and she'd babble excitedly, none the wiser to what she was hearing. Now was different. Now, she'd begin to understand my fears, and why she should be scared. I stared at her, silently begging her to go away. Her face fell, and she trotted past me at the sound of footsteps. "Da-da," she exclaimed. "Row row?"

I heard Rick chuckle, and I rubbed my palms over my thighs before I stood and faced the pair. The little girl hid her face in Rick's neck, and she sighed, and Rick tightened his hold on her. "She wants to hear 'Row, row, row your boat,'" he explained. He let the statement hang in the air for a moment. When I didn't say anything, he nodded and set the girl down on her feet. "Sweetheart, can you go inside and wait for Daddy? We'll have a bath in a minute, and then I'll sing to you."

She babbled, and then squealed, taking off inside the house, where someone must have scooped her up. Her laughter rung out for a moment, and the screen door settled shut, leaving me on the porch with Rick. He twisted the golden band on his ring finger and looked up at me. "How you doing?"

"She know you're not her daddy?"

Rick froze from where he'd been stepping towards me and looked away, his throat moving as he swallowed tightly. "Doesn't matter at this point, does it?"

I shrugged and stood. "Guess not."

Rick took a hesitant step towards me – hell, they _all_ took hesitant steps towards me, and then cowered when I spoke. "Look, Bob said that physically, you're doing okay." He gestured to my hand. "Your fingers were broken?"

I tucked my crooked hand behind my back. "What else did he tell you?"

"That you don't remember things. You don't remember him."

"I don't remember much from before we left the prison," I admitted.

"You were with Daryl," Rick pointed out.

"Yeah," I nodded.

"You know…after we got out from that place, he looked for you. We all looked for you, Beth, but Daryl was on a mission. Every day he'd break off from the group, searching for something…_anything_ that would give him a clue as to what happened to you."

A lot of things had happened to me, and I'd done a lot of things, none of which I hoped Daryl – or anyone else – would ever find out. I didn't speak.

Rick watched me for a moment. "Daryl said…he thinks that you were…that someone hurt you."

It was my turn to nod. "So?"

He pressed his lips together. I knew he was frustrated. I was, too. The urge to scream and claw my way back to something familiar was alive in my limbs, but I was too scared to make a sound.

"Things…happen in this world, now. More than they ever did. Right and wrong seem backwards. Your daddy…"

"My daddy is dead," I snapped.

"Hershel," Rick started again, "told me that we could come back from this. From whatever we'd become, what the world has become." Rick chuckled, but it was far from joyful, and he turned his eyes to the night. "I don't know if you know the details of what happened to us, but…we've all done things, Beth. To survive. To live, and fight another day." He turned to me then, and I saw a shadow behind his eyes. "So whatever happened to you, and whatever you've done, it happened so that you could be here right now, standing on this porch, surrounded by your family, people you know, and love, and love you back."

The porch creaked then, and Rick came to stand beside me at the railing. We stood for a while, silently looking out over the yard. If he was hoping I would say something, it was misplaced. Words died on my tongue; I think I once found it easy to talk to Rick, but now I was afraid of what he might think, or say, if he knew what I'd done.

When he realized that I wasn't going to carry a conversation, he pushed away from the railing, lingering for a moment. "There's a plate for ya," he finally spoke, nodding towards the door. "There's a _place_ for ya, too."

"Okay." My answer was flat, like all my answers were lately. I answered him because he wanted it, because he needed to hear me say something that would tell him he was getting through to me. I didn't _want_ to be difficult, with any of them, but there was something in my guts, twisting my veins around my heart, that made me wary. I didn't know who they were, or who I was, in relation to any of them.

Rick nodded and moved to the door. "You come inside when you're ready."

I allowed myself to shiver, alone on the porch, with my thoughts. I tugged the sweater down over my head and pushed my arms through. It wasn't cold, though, not like it was in the mountains. A long time ago, my mama had said that a shiver like that was because someone had walked over your grave.

* * *

"I'm going." I squared my shoulders and looked Maggie in the eye.

She faltered, and quickly glanced to Glenn for assistance. He gave her a weak smile and glanced at me with a shrug. "If she says she wants to go…"

"No way," Maggie hissed, turning back to me. "Are you crazy? We just found ya – I just got ya back! Can't you understand that?"

I rolled Maggie's reasoning around in my head. "Technically, I found you," I pointed out. I heard a cough, and a snicker, and I knew Daryl was the source. I ignored him, though, and continued my standoff with Maggie. "I think I'm a bit more use than sticking around the house."

Maggie narrowed her eyes, and then crossed her arms over her chest. "Someone needs to watch Judith."

"Well, then, maybe that should be her family's responsibility."

"Beth!" Maggie hissed. She crossed the space between us and made a grab for my arm. "_We're_ a family. _All_ of us."

I pulled my wrist from her grip and wrapped it with my own fingers, and glanced around the kitchen. Everyone was watching us, and the silence was awkward. The tension was obvious. "That why I feel like a shirttail relative?" I shook my head once more. "No. I'm not a babysitter. I didn't come back from…from _that_ just to watch a toddler."

"You're not well."

I scoffed. "None of us are." I shook my head again. "I'm way more valuable out there than I am here – I snuck up on _Daryl_ for Chrissake."

"Dunno if y'all 'snuck up' on me," Daryl grumbled. "But, she's right," he continued, louder now, and looking at Maggie. "She's stronger than you think now."

Panicked that she was outnumbered, Maggie looked to Rick, who was watching the scene very carefully. Stepping forward, he rubbed his fingers together, and then nodded. "Beth comes with us," he announced.

Maggie sputtered, and was about to speak, but Michonne, who had been silently watching the whole time, spoke up. "Beth should go," she said with a firm nod. She smiled softly. I'll watch Judith."

Rick glanced towards her, his eyes asking if that was what she wanted.

The dark-skinned woman smiled, nodded, and pushed away from the counter where she leaned. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to," she murmured, stepping past Rick to seek out Judith in the other room. Her palm glanced over Rick's midsection, lingering, fingers curling affectionately, and Rick's hand held it there for a split second before letting her go.

I didn't miss the moment, and it left me wanting for closeness, and security. Wrapping my arms around myself, I remained silent, and waited for Rick to continue.

"Daryl, Carl, Beth, and I will go. It's a quick run; no more than half a day north to scout out the subdivision, and the Target just east of it. It may become an overnighter; if that's the case then Glenn, Maggie – I'll need you, and Sasha and Bob, to hold down the fort here, and wait for us to return."

"And what if you don't?" Maggie growled.

"We always have," Carl shrugged.

"We leave at first light," Rick finalized. He waited a beat, and then turned to follow the direction Michonne had taken.

Maggie gaped after him, and then shot Daryl a narrowed gaze. "You of _all_ people should know this isn't safe!" she hissed.

Daryl glared at her. "Take a good look around, Maggie. It hasn't been safe for _years_. Think I like the thought of takin' Beth outta here?"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," I muttered, pushing between Maggie and Daryl.

"It's been real easy, the way you've been actin'," Maggie countered, her eyes flashing.

Glenn interjected. "Maggie," he said softly, "she was out there by herself this whole time, and she's here now."

I watched my sister's face crumble. "But at what cost?" She sagged against the counter, running a hand over her hair. "Beth, why are you so eager to be out there again?"

How could I tell her that I needed it? That I couldn't handle being in a house with a bunch of people that were waiting for someone that wasn't coming back? Squaring my shoulders, I looked into Maggie's eyes. "I can handle this."

Maggie stiffened at my voice. "I hope so," she said. "Because I can't handle losing you again." Her gaze cut back to Daryl. "_None_ of us can."

She stormed out of the kitchen, Glenn in tow, leaving me with Daryl.

"Carl," Daryl muttered, "you wanna go check over our supplies? I don't wanna dick around in the mornin'."

Carl knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he sighed, heading to the kitchen door that led outside. "I'm glad you're comin', Beth." He grinned, and rubbed the nick in his throat from my knife. "Rather you have my back, then my head."

"You know why she's so pissed, don'tcha?" Daryl asked once we were alone.

"Cuz she's used to getting her own way."

Daryl snorted, and I glared at him. "Yeah, runs in the family," he quipped dryly.

I groaned, and sagged against the counter. Rubbing my hands over my face, I drew in a breath, and pressed my fingers to my eyes. "I'm not the same girl I was before," I murmured.

"Mmmm," Daryl grunted. "We've all changed."

"But into what? I mean, everyone seems to be adjusting to this…life. They know where they fit in."

"Some of us just do a damn fine impression of it, too."

I shook my head at Daryl's reluctance. "Don't act like you don't mean everything to these people. You're a good man, Daryl. They need you." I waved my hand at the kitchen and made a face. "Only thing these people want is a reliable babysitter." I shook her hair from my eyes. "I don't sing anymore, you know."

"S'shame," he said quietly. "But I get it," he added, with a nod. "Not much to sing about, is there?"

Instead of answering, I shrugged, a fine impression of what Daryl did on a regular basis.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You don't wanna talk, fine. I get it. But don't stalk around here like you ain't affecting us." He huffed, and began pacing the kitchen. "I _know_ that you're scared, an' I _know_ that you feel outta place. But so do we. So do _I_. Hell, I'm the one that lost ya, Beth, an' then you come back, an' you're like a damn ghost."

He stopped pacing then, and stared at me long and hard. "The worst thing that could happen to you has already happened. What are you so damn afraid of?"

I flinched as his words hit home, and all at once I wanted to fall into him, and hold him and hit him at the same time. I was afraid of _everything_. "I'm not afraid of anythin'," I rasped, and even to me it sounded lame.

Daryl pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening. "Girl, you can't lie worth a damn."

I pressed my mouth into a hard line and stared back at Daryl, daring him to say something else. I didn't want to let him in, to see the twisted, dark person who still lurked beneath the surface, but I knew it was a lost cause. He was right: I was a shitty liar.

"I'll see you in the mornin'," was his curt reply, and he left the same way Carl had, the screen door banging after him.

* * *

Daryl cut around the house and moved out onto the overgrown path that led down to the creek. Bob was on watch, and Rick was set to take the next shift, already heading in the direction of the post, when Daryl cut him off.

"I'll take it," he shrugged. "Can't stand bein' in that house right now."

Rick nodded, but walked with Daryl anyway. "She's struggling," Rick said as they moved into the trees.

"Nah," Daryl snorted, shifting the crossbow on his shoulder. "She's just stubborn. Like her sister. An' her daddy."

"Mmm," Rick nodded. "More so like Hershel, I think. You ever get that feeling like you're talking to him when you're talking to Beth?"

Daryl bobbed his head, but remained silent.

Rick chuckled flatly. "She's got a way with words. Didn't think anyone could put Maggie in her place."

"Maggie's just worried," Daryl muttered thinly.

Rick paused, his hand stretching out and catching Daryl flat on the chest, halting him in his tracks. Startled, Daryl looked up to Rick's face. "What about you?"

Daryl squinted at Rick, trying to discern the actual subject in question. "Worried about the run?"

Easing back, Rick gestured to the path, and they continued. "About the run. About this place. About Beth. I know that finding her shook you up."

Daryl swallowed thickly, and closed his eyes. "I didn't think I would."

"None of us did," Rick assured Daryl, settling a hand on his friend's shoulder.

It was true. After three months of endless searching, their small group had secured the house they currently occupied, and Daryl's priorities shifted to finding supplies, and scouting the area, and keeping the fences repaired. By the fourth month, he'd made the decision to focus on those he still had. Losing Beth had still haunted him, but it lingered beneath the surface, and he kept his emotions in check for the sake of Maggie. The elder Greene girl had come to terms with losing her sister, but every now and then, a soft, lingering look of loss would pass between them, followed by a faint nod. In turn, those looks were usually followed by excursions that took two or more days, deep into the woods to hunt, or scavenge, or to merely think, and try to shake the girl that had gotten to him.

"Hey," Rick said, pulling Daryl from his thoughts.

Daryl sniffed, wiping his eyes that had become damp, and he nodded stiffly. "She said she heard me. When she was in the mountains? She heard me talkin' to her. Screamin' at her." His words choked off as his fists tightened. "What the hell is she talkin' about? Why _me_?"

Rick shrugged. "She told Bob she doesn't remember much from before the prison fell."

"She does," Daryl muttered. "She's just pushin' it away. She's hidin'. Somethin' else happened up there, an' it wasn't just broken fingers, or scars." Daryl huffed, his thoughts whirling. "Pretty sure she killed people. An' she wouldn't have had to if I…I'm the one that lost her…"

"You didn't _lose_ her, Daryl," Rick broke in, angling his head so that he could look Daryl in the eye. "She was taken, and she knows that…"

"But she was with _me_," he growled. "She was with me, an' I was watchin' out for her an' then…" Daryl broke off, biting back a sob that threatened to spill. "An' then she was just gone," he finished, his voice not unlike that after he'd found Rick and Michonne and Carl.

"Maybe you were still watching out for her. In her mind, at least, she wasn't alone. She had you. She's had you all along, Daryl. And from what I can tell, she isn't angry with anyone, and she doesn't blame anyone. She's just…"

"Gone," Daryl finished for Rick. "She's still gone, an' I don't know how to find her."

"Yeah," Rick nodded. "I know. But we aren't giving up. We've _never_ given up, Daryl, not on anyone in the family. We're not going to start now."


	6. The Kid and the Archer

_A/N: Thanks for all the niceness! I've been getting some PMs with regard to the whole Beth / Daryl aspect of this fic. If it wasn't clear in the first of my author notes, or with the fact I haven't categorized this as Bethyl, let me be perfectly clear: Beth and Daryl will not be hooking up, bumping uglies, doing the bad thing, or any other version of sexing. I have no problem with those two hooking up, don't get me wrong, but this isn't the fic where you'll find it. I can happily recommend some great Bethyl fics where clothes come off and such, if you like._

* * *

Carl had grown a lot since I last saw him. He was as tall as I was, and I had a feeling he'd keep sprouting upwards, too. He loped beside me at an easy pace as we set out before sunrise the next morning. Daryl had lingered while we were getting ready, and he always seemed on the verge of saying something before he decided better of it. He and Rick took point, but I didn't miss the way he'd cast a glance backwards, like he was making sure I was still there.

The hours before dawn are eerie. Shadows play in your mind, and it's darker than midnight. It's hard to see anything a foot in front of your face, and I was thankful for the pale gravel that made up the path to the road. There was no wind that morning, and it was cold, and my breath was the only other thing I could see out there. We stalked quietly on either side of the path, the long grass better for hiding the sounds of footsteps. I felt more at ease then than I had in days. Stillness and quiet took a hold of me, and I floated along the path, my eyes sweeping for movement.

Having only myself to rely on in the mountains, I learned to trust my senses beyond what Daryl had tried to teach me in those days after the prison. My instincts were sharp; after endless days in the mountains, trying to find my way out, I learned to listen for the sounds of birds, and of wind, of the world waking up and taking a deep breath before stretching in the morning sun.

There was no sunrise that morning, not one that made a significant difference. The cold remained as the sky lightened, and when the first calls of warblers came from the creeper vines along the road, I relaxed a little, and let my eyes adjust. The clouds were heavy and grey; I knew that there would be rain before midday. Storms seemed to move faster on flatland. I'd watched them roll in high up in the mountains, and seen how they played in the distance on the foothills.

My eyes were fixed on Daryl's crossbow, and the way he and Rick walked almost in tandem. It was good for both of them, the bond that they shared. Even with my gaze pointed forward, I could feel Carl stealing glances, and I turned towards him, just as he tried to sneak another one.

I raised my eyebrow expectantly as he stared at me, and he quickly looked away with a mumbled, "Sorry." He lifted his rifle from one shoulder to the other, and then he looked back, his face curious. "You cut your hair," he pointed out.

"Yeah," I shrugged, not wanting to go into details.

"I like it," Carl decided.

"Ain't a fashion statement," I muttered, looking back to Daryl and Rick.

I heard Carl chuckle beside me, but he didn't push the conversation any further in that direction. Instead, he tried a new route.

"Dad says you were in the mountains. What was it like?"

"Cold," I shrugged. "And dark. And lonely." I glanced at him and saw his face drawn in thought as he nodded.

"I've never been," he confessed.

"I hope you never get to," I said with all honesty.

"Things happened here, too, you know. Did Maggie tell you?"

I shook my head. "Haven't really had anything worthwhile to say to her."

"You should talk to her," Carl continued. "When we…when we found them at Terminus, she was so upset that you weren't there. We all were." He frowned then. "Daryl was angry for a really long time. He didn't say much for the first little while. I mean, Daryl doesn't say much anyway, but we noticed. He and Maggie carried a lot of the grief." Carl shrugged and spread his hands out. "She didn't want him blaming himself."

"I don't blame him, Carl," I said with all honesty. "The people that are to blame…they're gone now." My fingers curled, and I remembered how the skin felt tight as their blood dried.

"You killed them."

I didn't say anything. I'd done more than just kill them. I'd hunted them down, and watched them bleed out into the snow.

"I've killed people, too, you know."

Torn from visions of thick red melting into white, I faltered at his conversational tone, and slowly turned to look at him.

Shrugging again, he went on. "The first one was impulse. I'm not proud of it." He tilted his head contemplatively. "Your dad saw it, too. I thought a lot about it, afterwards. Do you think about it? About the people you killed?"

"No," I answered hastily.

"Then, what are you afraid of?"

"Didn't it change you?" I asked. I had a feeling he'd been spending a lot of time with Daryl in the months I'd been gone. He seemed to have the same ability to read people. If he stared hard enough into my eyes, would he see all the ugly things I still saw?

"You tell me," Carl shrugged. "Last fall, after…you know." I nodded, knowing he was referring to when I was taken. "Dad, Michonne, and I ran into a group. It was the same group that squeezed us out of a house we were scouting. Dad got caught upstairs, under a bed, and ended up killing one of theirs in the bathroom. Choked him out with his bare hands.

"Anyway, about a week later, they found us. They'd been scouting us the whole time, determined to get revenge or whatever. Daryl was with them, had been helping them scout us, but he didn't know that. They caught us in the night, on the side of the road. I…one of them grabbed me. Said they had plans for Michonne, and then me, and that they'd kill Rick after he watched…" Carl trailed off with a scowl. "The one who grabbed me held me down. Pushed my face in the dirt. Grabbed my belt, told me keep fighting, just made him want…more." He rubbed his hands over his face and took a sharp breath.

I held my own breath, knowing all too well what Carl had gone through. My throat tightened at the thought, and I didn't want to think about what had happened - or what might have happened.

"Dad killed the leader.," Carl continued. "Tore his throat open with his teeth. I've never seen my dad like that before. Everyone has a breaking point. A point where they say 'enough', and they either fight, or they give up."

Carl fell silent for a moment, and I stared at him, wide eyed, as we continued walking along the road. "He's still my dad. He still takes care of Judith, still loves her, and he loves Michonne. He's the same guy, you know. He just did what needed to be done to protect us, and himself. He did it to make sure we all stayed together." Carl tilted his head at me again and narrowed his crisp blue eyes at me. "So, what made you fight? You had a choice, give up and die, or kill them before they killed you. Why did you kill them? Was it for the sake of just killing? Cuz I don't believe that for a second, Beth. That's not you. But I believe you're the type of person who won't give up. You've always tried to keep us together – you're like your dad, did you know that?"

"Carl," I warned, shaking my head.

He took another breath. "Why did you kill them?"

"I didn't want to be their plaything anymore," I murmured. "And I wanted to…" I broke off, looking up the way to where Rick and Daryl had paused, crouched low to the ground, murmuring about whatever Daryl was pointing at.

I drew another breath, ready to tell Carl that I had wanted to let Daryl know I was okay, and that I didn't blame him for anything, and that he kept me alive, the thought of him made me fight. Before I could muster the words, Rick had stood and was walking towards us, waving us closer.

"Herd passed by here about an hour ago," he said in a low voice. "Daryl figures there were at least twenty, but it's hard to tell with the tracks. Best we keep quiet, keep our eyes open. Carl and I will bring up the rear." His eyes cut to me. "Can you take point with Daryl?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

Rick smiled warmly. "Good. We'll go two by two until we hit the tracks, and turn west. After that, it's only a few hours walk. We should see the housing development before midday."

I nodded again, and made to move away, but Carl's voice halted me.

"Hey." He gestured towards me, and the road ahead. "I've got your back."

"Thank you," I whispered, trying out a small smile on him.

When he returned it, I made my way to Daryl, and fell into step along side him.

* * *

She was good at keeping quiet and seeing things in the leaves at their feet, and the branches and vines at their sides. Of course, Daryl supposed she would be good, after making her way back to Georgia after almost six months. He found himself watching her, and the way she tilted her head, or gingerly touched an outline in the mud, a turned leaf, or a torn patch of moss. She did this thing where her hand hovered over her newly discovered clue, and closed her eyes, pushing her face into the air, her mouth slightly open, like she was breathing in the forest itself, searching for whatever it was hiding in the shadows. When her eyes would open, she'd nod, more to herself, and then motion in the direction the group of walkers had gone. So far, she'd tracked them in a sweeping arc, east, and then south, a good ways away from their shelter, and their goal for the day.

Daryl smiled to himself as he moved behind Beth. Jesus, she was different. He guessed that seeing the group evolve through the last months had made Beth's transformation that much more jarring. He'd known she wasn't a kid anymore. She hadn't been one for some time. The term 'girl' was one he assigned her out of affection, and familiarity, and because of the bond that had grown between them in their short time together. He found it still rolled off the tongue easily when it came to her, and there was a part of him that longed to rediscover that bond. Seeing her in the forest like this spoke to that part of him, and so as Rick and Carl silently moved behind them, Daryl edged closer to Beth, and tried to find someway to start a conversation.

"How long was I gone?"

Daryl drew up short, startled, though he tried to hide it. Beth had beaten him to breaking the silence, but there had been no build up to her question. She was as blunt as she ever was, but instead of looking up at him with those damned imploring blue eyes, she kept her gaze on the forest, scanning methodically.

"One hundred and sixty-seven days," he replied, not missing a beat. "And sometimes I still think I'm dreamin' when I see you."

She paused mid-step, and finally blinked up at him. "You dreamt about me?"

Daryl smirked, and he shrugged again, before looking to his bow and fiddling with a bolt. "Felt more like you were haunting me, t'be honest." His eyes found Beth's, and he squinted as the sunlight cut in through the branches overhead. "An' it doesn't help that you walk around here like a ghost."

She frowned and quickly looked everywhere but him. He moved closer to her, and his hand inched out along to where hers hung at her side. "Tell me about this," he murmured, placing a warm, steady hand over her broken fingers. "Can you?"

"Please don't," she mumbled, drawing her hand back. "Don't ask me to do that."

Frustrated, but understanding, he pulled his hand back and bobbed his head. "When you feel like it…"

Beth nodded, cutting him off. She glanced back, seeing Carl and Rick pick their way through along the path they were following. "I'm not as chatty as I used to be," she added wryly.

"Yeah, noticed that," Daryl replied.

"Sorry to ruin your expectations," Beth muttered.

Daryl bit back his own snarky remark, knowing that pressing her to talk would result in the opposite of what he was trying to achieve. He knew all the defense mechanisms; he still used them from time to time. At least, he had, while she'd been gone. When he'd first glimpsed her blue eyes in the forest, staring up at him, her small voice confessing she'd been searching for him, he'd almost burst with relief, and every emotion he'd kept in check threatened to seep out the cracks that had suddenly appeared in the armor he'd forged when she'd been taken.

"The only thing I expect," Daryl began with a strained voice, "is that you won't let whatever happened haunt you for the rest of your days. It's done." He stopped, and Beth did too, and he stared into her eyes pointedly. "Dead, and buried, up in those mountains."

"Dead," she repeated flatly. "Not buried." She looked at Daryl. "I left them to freeze, and burn in the snow." Turning her gaze back to the forest floor, she spotted a depression in the leaves, and crouched low to investigate.

Daryl nodded again, not that she saw it. He knew from her tone that she wasn't about to be forthcoming with any further details at this moment. Instead, he followed her lead. He would track beside her, watch her signals, and give his own when needed, until they were out of the woods.

* * *

The run was uneventful in that we didn't run into walkers, or other people. We found a few boxes of ammo, some more dried goods, and tins of fruit and vegetables, and we took what we could safely carry at this point, deciding to bring the one vehicle that had gas back the next day after we'd returned to the house. There was clothing, too, and blankets, but Rick assured me that we had enough. I guess spending four weeks in the mountains at the end of winter will make you wary about being cold. They'd stocked up the last winter, and he went on to explain that there was even a stash of things for me, that Daryl had added to it when he found something suitable, in hopes that he'd find me sooner rather than later. I couldn't imagine what was in those boxes - pieces that used to belong to someone else that were kept for a version of me I wasn't sure existed anymore.

It wasn't like I was choosy; I'd taken what I could during my trek out of the mountains, and for the most part, I'd been undetected, and clothes had been lifted from makeshift laundry lines, packs lifted from people who had fallen asleep on watch. The entire time, I'd hunted, relatively unsuccessful in my attempts to snare something at first, but the more I tried, the better I got, and I tried my hardest to remember anything that Daryl had told me before. I searched the woods for him, as I made my way south, hoping that being in his element would bring me closer somehow. Maybe it did. I was really good at tracking, at covering my own tracks, and becoming self-reliant.

Daryl had picked up signs of a herd passing nearby as we skirted the housing development and made our way back towards camp, so our path had been diverted, putting us further away from home than we wanted to be. Night fell, and soon the decision to stop for the night was made. Rick and Carl gathered wood, while Daryl nodded at me, and then to the trees, asking me to walk a perimeter, and set minimal defenses as best we could, with snares, and a line made of bear bells that Carl had pocketed in one of the houses. When we'd secured our camp as best we could, we headed back, and found the fire started, and Carl working on opening a tin of something, while Rick pored over the map he'd stuffed in his pocket that morning. He'd take first watch, he announced, and we settled down to put something in our stomachs, slake our thirst, and wait.

* * *

"_Are you real?" I whispered in the cold shadows of that room._

_The Daryl in my brain shook his head, and he offered a small, sad smile. "Sorry, darlin'."_

"_Are you lookin' for me?"_

_This time, he nodded. "Every day. But you gotta do your part, too. Can't just leave it up to me."_

_I sighed, and let my tears run. "I know," I choked out. "I'm scared."_

"_Me, too," Daryl-in-my-brain replied._

_My aching fingers swirled the dirt of the floor, making patterns in the dark. I wrapped my arms around myself and closed my eyes, allowing myself to believe it was Daryl – not Daryl-in-my-brain but actually Daryl, pulling me towards him, holding me tight, and safe. "Be a good girl," he muttered into my hair. "An' don't take their shit."_

"_Daryl," I replied. I hummed as his fingers flitted over my hair._

"_Wake up, darlin'."_

I opened my eyes and found I was curled into a blanket, and Daryl was there, his blue eyes glittering in the scant firelight.

"You were talkin' in yer sleep," Daryl said softly.

My voice caught in my throat. These days it was hard to tell the difference between dreaming and awake, and my hand reached out of its own accord and curled on the ground next to Daryl's outstretched hand.

"Are you real?" I whispered. I held my breath waiting for the answer. The brush of his fingers against mine made my throat tighten, and I bit my tongue as he wove his fingers between mine.

"Yeah," he whispered back. "I'm here, an' you're here with me. We're in the woods, in Georgia. Rick's on watch. Carl's asleep."

I closed my eyes as a wave of emotion crashed over me. Nodding to myself, I licked my lips, grimacing at the way my mouth had dried. The warmth of Daryl's hand left me, and I groaned feebly, missing the contact. I heard him moving about, and opened my eyes. He handed me a bottle of water, and I drank gratefully. "They didn't give me a lot of water," I gasped after I'd swallowed the rest of the bottle down. "I was always thirsty."

Daryl nodded, dark hair swinging over his eyes, and he took the empty bottle from my hands and tucked it away. Leaning on one elbow, he stared into the fire. Daryl had a silence about him, a way of not looking at you and yet looking _into_ you all at the same time. It was unnerving now, when before it had just been annoying. You could never lie to Daryl. He'd always see the truth in you, whether you let it all pour out in verbal hemorrhaging, or you said nothing at all. He was patient. He could wait.

"The one with the grey eyes was the worst. There were three of em'," I started, sitting up under the blanket. Movement caught my eye, and I looked to see Rick emerge from the trees, glance our way, and then give one of those faint nods that I knew Daryl returned. Then, Rick disappeared again to do another sweep.

"Two men. One woman." I frowned. "The woman was strange. Like she resented me, and treasured me all at the same time." I dared to peek at Daryl. He'd turned to his side so that he faced me more, but he was focused on the ground, his head bobbing as I spoke, his way of saying he was still with me.

"Said ya heard me. In your brain?"

I smiled wanly. "For days, and days. You were with me there in the dark of that car, and for days after, when I was really afraid. When it got dark. When they came back. I saw you, too. You were so real it was like I could touch you. I tried to so many times. I tried to remember what you sounded like. What you looked like, and smelled like, and felt like…" I froze, feeling like I was bleeding all over the place from a gaping wound.

Daryl remained still and silent, knowing that any movement could spook me. Sucking in a deep breath, I went on. "You were always there, when I was alone. You told me not to give up. That you were looking for me, but I had to do my part, too."

"I was," Daryl admitted. "Lookin' fer ya. Every day." His voice was thick with emotion.

Somehow, I knew that, without him having to tell me. I nodded. "When things got…bad…you were there. For a little while. When they…when I was bleeding, or crying, or fighting, you were there." My vision began to blur, and my tears made the firelight that much brighter. I sniffed, feeling my throat swell, and my fingers curled, aching, knuckles cracking. "And then one day," I stuttered, my voice thin and wavering, "you weren't there." A sob broke my voice and I swiped at my eyes. "You left."

"I have _never_ left you, Beth," Daryl growled. His hands curled into fists, and I could see the tension flooding into his arms, his shoulders, his face.

"But I was alone," I whimpered. "And all I had was me. Or something that I thought was me." I shook myself, and wiped my nose on my sleeve. With a hard swallow, I looked up at Daryl, and blinked away the last of my tears. "I killed all of them," I said hollowly. "And my hands were soaked in their blood." I uncurled my fists. "Sometimes I can still see it, staining me past my wrists." A shuddering sigh left me, and my hands went to my hair, pushing it from my face. "I cut my hair off the next morning," I said, fingering the shorn length. "He…he liked to use it to move me to his liking. I didn't want anyone to have that hold on me again." I stole another glance at Daryl.

His hand moved towards me. I hadn't sought physical contact from anyone, and other than Bob's examination, everyone seemed to tiptoe around me. I couldn't help but flinch, and Daryl's eyes softened, and seemed sad for a moment. But he kept going, and I held my breath as his fingers settled in my hair, brushing it back from my face, skimming the scar through my eyebrow.

"We all got scars. Inside, n'out. Means you fought." His thumb traced over the old scar on my wrist, and when I tried to pull away, his hold tightened on me.

Something in his words rang familiar with me, and I closed my eyes, suddenly remembering a very similar conversation with him back when we were running together.

When I opened my eyes, he turned my hands over with his, and curled our fingers together once more. "Your hands are clean, Beth. Always have been. I know that you can't go back to the way you were. Not all the way. But there are parts of you that are too important to lose all together."

He was watching me now, poised to say something more, when Rick melted from the trees with the faint rustle of leaves. "Close to morning," he announced around a yawn. He nudged Daryl with a toe. "Wanna take over?"

"I'll do it," I said, already scrambling to my feet and shouldering the rifle I'd tucked in beside me. "Probably won't sleep anymore, anyway," I added, more to myself. I took a deep breath of cool, damp air, trying desperately to clear my head.

"Makes two of us," Daryl grumbled. His voice followed me across the small camp as I stepped along the trees. "Stay close."

"I will."

"Promise?" The shadows danced over his face, but I heard the expectation in his voice.

I nodded once, and stepped into the pines.


	7. Game

_They liked to drink. I don't know where they got the stuff, but I suppose if Daryl and I had found a still deep in the Georgia woods, it wasn't too far of a stretch that they had found something similar. Maybe it was a warehouse, or a bar, that they'd ransacked. It didn't matter to me where they got it from, though. It only mattered that they liked to drink, and that the woman was rather melancholy when she did so, and so she didn't always pay attention to what she was doing._

_She'd wanted to play 'asshole', and somewhere in my brain I had a memory of learning how to play. A deck of cards was produced, and shuffled, and she dealt out hands on the dirt floor where I sat, my hands still bound tightly, the feel of rope between my fingers becoming too familiar. I watched, somewhat bemused, as she picked up her cards and began arranging them. When she noticed I hadn't budged, she frowned, and kicked my cards towards me._

_I shrugged helplessly. I couldn't very well hold my cards if my hands were tied. She'd grumbled something about me not even being a threat, and snatched up my cards, and hers, and left the room. There was no noise, none of the quiet, low murmur of voices, and I realized that the two men had left, and I was alone here with the woman._

_I sank back against the wall, rolling my shoulders as best I could. I hoped she'd leave me alone now. The man with the grey eyes was easy to read: he was an angry man, scared, and weak with the world, and he sought to take out his fears on those that he believed to be beneath him. The second man seemed to be along for the ride, definitely not a leader, but one who did what others told him was best. His lack of empathy, or ability to know right and wrong, was terrifying, and he sometimes seemed to be empty, while the man with the grey eyes gave him orders._

_The woman, though, was vicious. She may have been beautiful once, but life on the road didn't treat everyone equally. She hated me, I think, because of my hair, and my eyes, and my skin, and my teeth. The man with the grey eyes knew this, and kept her on a short leash, but sometimes he wasn't always there. She played with me, sometimes seeming like a child, a younger sister, eerie, and flighty. Other times, she was unfeeling, and smiled wanly as she watched my bones being broken, my flesh being cut. She wouldn't let them mar my face, not after my eyebrow had been cut being flung into the car. Everywhere else, however, was fair game._

_My relief at her absence was short lived. She burst back into the room, her dead smile firmly in place as she came nearer. Squatting down in front of me, she held a knife under my nose, the blade laying flat on two palms, as if she was offering it to me. I glanced at the blade, and then to her, and swallowed thickly. It was the knife Daryl had given me on one of those first nights we were running together. I'd used it a handful of times, and I longed to feel its weight in my hand again. Not thinking, I reached for it, and she snatched it back, shoving me roughly back against the wall. She chuckled, and then reached for me, making me flinch. Her arms went around me, and I smelled the cold air clinging to her, smoke in her unwashed hair, and the scent of grime ground into her skin. She grunted, sawing at the ropes around my wrists, and I flexed my fingers as my bonds fell away. When she was finished, she stepped back, and watched me expectantly._

_I focused on the knife. If nothing else, I wanted it back, wanted to hold it, and use it to cut my way out of their hold. The knife was mine, the one thing Daryl had given me that was tangible. Now that he was no longer talking to me, I felt as if his blade in my hand might bring him back to me somehow._

_Fingers snapped in my face and I lifted my gaze to the woman. Behind my back, I flexed my fingers once more, and as she moved to stand, I moved too, something driving me, making my leg swing out so that my foot hooked over her ankle, tripping her, and bringing her face down into the dirt._

_She grunted with the impact and I sprung into action, clambering over her body, driving a kneecap into her spine as I went, making her gasp as I crushed the air from her body, laying as much of myself into her as I could. When she'd fallen, the knife had skittered from her hand, and now lay just out of her reach. Gritting my teeth, I gathered all of my strength, and crawled up her back, pinning her down with my forearm against the back of her neck. My fingertips touched the hilt of the knife as she bucked and twisted beneath me. Suddenly, my world tipped, and I felt myself flip over to one side, onto my back, just as I curled two fingers around the knife._

_I shook my hair from my eyes just as she landed on me, her fist connecting with the side of my face. Hot pain bloomed in my jaw, and her nails scored my skin as she clawed for my hair. With two firm fistfuls of the long strands, she lifted my head up and sent it crashing back down to the hard-packed dirt, and my ears rung as my teeth rattled together._

_She snarled curses at me, and looked past my head, her eyes going from frantic to frozen as she saw the knife in my fingers. With another burst of adrenaline, my free hand sailed up shoving her chin up and exposing her throat to me. I brought the knife across in a swift arc, and a thin line of red appeared on the skin of her throat. Very little effort was needed, and it was exactly like a hot knife through butter. Her flesh gave way, then tendons and muscle, and suddenly, her throat split open and hot, coppery blood flooded out while she gagged and gurgled._

_Her hands clutched her throat as her eyes went wide, and she fell back from me as she tried to stop the bleeding, but I'd cut deep, and long, and I shoved myself backwards as I watched her die. I gasped for breath, and my limbs felt heavy and over-taxed as the adrenaline sailed back out of my limbs and threatened to leave me numb. But I couldn't stay here. I needed to get out._

_I didn't bother finishing the job, and left the now lifeless woman without driving the blade into her brain. It would be a surprise to the men when they returned, finding me gone, and the woman a walker. I stood on shaking legs and stole into the main room, and began gathering anything I could find to help me on my way._

* * *

A low, guttural growl came through the trees. My heart was pounding, reliving my escape in my head, but the sound that roused me was close, and it wasn't a wild animal. Holding my breath, I closed my eyes and listened again, hearing the steady, sluggish lurch of dead feet trampling through leaves. It was coming closer, and seemed to arc around, closing in on our camp.

"Shit," I muttered, ducking through the trees towards the low flames.

I nudged Daryl with my toe, and when his eyes snapped open, I held a finger to my lips, and nodded towards the trees. "Looks like they tracked us down," I whispered.

Daryl nodded once, and scrambled to his feet, stuffing his bedroll and the blanket he slept on into his pack as I roused Carl and Rick. They were bleary eyed, the latter having gotten no more than an hour's rest, but he moved quickly, making sure Carl was up and already headed the way I'd indicated before he slung his own pack over his shoulders.

"C'mon," I hissed at Carl, tugging on the straps of his backpack and making him move faster.

"Think we can outrun em?" I heard Rick mutter, and Daryl grunted in reply.

"Dunno. Beth, how many?"

"I think it's the same group from this mornin'. Twenty, easily. Maybe more."

"Probably more," Carl muttered.

We turned in the trees again, tearing through creeper vines, and stumbling into a clearing. Carl's momentum carried him forward, and he tripped over something on the ground, something that grunted and then shouted, cursing wildly before scrambling to pick up a rifle.

"What the fuck?"

I skidded in my tracks, and realized we'd stumbled in on another camp. "I don't believe it," I breathed, before I started to back away. "Go back, head west," I warned over my shoulder, as loudly as I dared.

The other two members of the camp had roused, and Carl had managed to find his feet, but barely. We stood on the other side of the clearing, the group of strangers in the middle, as Daryl and Rick crashed through the brush to join us.

"Jesus Christ," Rick muttered, his hand already palming the gun from his holster.

Daryl's crossbow was raised and aimed, as his eyes cut from one stranger to the next. "Beth," he muttered in warning. "Run. Go south. Back to the road. We'll catch up."

I shook my head vehemtly. "I ain't leavin' you, Daryl," I breathed. "I won't."

"Goddamit, I'm not having this argument again, I said go!"

The moans of walkers soon filled the immediate area behind Rick and Daryl, and my stomach dropped as I realised the only ones with a chance to escape were me and Carl. I shook my head again, hesitating.

"Beth, come _on_!" Carl's hand grabbed mine and he tugged me towards the trees.

"_No_!" I screeched, and it seemed to only invigorate the walkers. Soon enough, the first of them were straggling through the trees, and Daryl turned, loosing one bolt, and dropping the one closest to us.

"Go! _NOW_!" Rick roared.

Carl yanked me again, and we stumbled out of the clearing as alarmed voices rose behind us. We ran, stumbling into the forest. Something crashed behind us, living or dead I didn't know, and I didn't want to find out. The groans of the dead were closing in on us, and it seemed like they were coming on all sides now. Shots were fired from the clearing, and my heart leaped into my throat as Carl swore sharply.

"Here," I said, pulling him to a halt beside a sturdy oak. I pulled myself up to the lowest branch, and then stuck my hand down to Carl. "C'mon. Walkers don't climb trees, last time I checked." He put a hand in mine and I pulled as his boots scraped up the sides of the trunk. He struggled, and I reached down to yank him up by his pack, when my hand encountered someone already grabbing onto him.

Carl struggled. "Fuck, let me go!" He growled, and then wiggled in the grasp of the man that had followed us. It was the one Carl had tripped over, and he tore Carl down from the tree, aiming his rifle at him.

"Get outta that tree, missy," he grunted. "Or I'll shoot the both of ya." He stomped a heavy boot down onto Carl's shoulder and cocked the gun.

"There's walkers on your ass," I snapped. "An' you're wastin' time. Let him up and run, now. You don't want me to come down there."

Carl struggled, and craned his face up to look at me where I hovered in the trees. He shook his head. "No, Beth, stay there…"

The man issued more pressure on Carl's shoulder, and grinned up at me. "I got a gun, missy." He moved his eyes to the knife I gripped gently.

_Hold it like you would an egg_, I heard Daryl's voice tell me. _Don't strangle it. It's a part of you, like your hand._

"What are ya gonna do with that itty-bitty knife?"

_You gonna cut me, sugar? Make me bleed? C'mon, an' show me what you got, babydoll._

The grey-eyed man's voice closed around me, and as the sun began to rise up red and newborn in the morning sky, I dropped down from the tree, and showed him how well I handled my itty-bitty knife.


	8. Treed

_A/N: I had a discussion with __incog_ninja regarding the likelihood of people hiding in trees while trying to outrun walkers and other adversaries. Seems like it would be a good idea. So, Beth spends a lot of time in trees. Kind of a fitting title then, innit?_

* * *

The day was half over. They'd ran through the dawn, after Beth had finished the man from the other camp. She'd slung his rifle over her shoulder and grabbed Carl, hauling him to his feet as walkers stumbled towards them. They escaped their grasp, putting a dozen or so down before they were in the clear. Then, Beth had forced Carl to all out run, arcing back towards the road, where they now lingered, keeping an eye open for Rick and Daryl as they slowly wandered back to the house. She hadn't said anything since she had dropped down from that tree, and Carl was back to stealing glances, watching for any sign of life from her.

She was covered in gore - they both were, but Beth wore it with an eerie calm. Blood had spattered her face, and her hands were caked with it, red from the living, black and sticky from the dead. Clumps of decaying flesh clung to the ends of her hair, and Carl's own clothing was stiff from the vile stuff drying in the hot sun. He was thirsty. His limbs ached.

"We need to find water," he spoke up as he skidded down off the road and into a ditch. His eyes scanned the overgrown grass until he found what he was looking for: a storm drain. There was a good chance water was nearby. "C'mon," he said a moment later, pushing out of the ditch and into the woods once more.

Beth nodded, her eyes scanning the road behind them, and the horizon ahead once more, before she followed Carl into the trees.

They found the stream about twenty minutes later, scooping in a few hasty mouthfuls before they began scrubbing at the worst of the blood. Beth's hands swished through the gentle current, her crooked fingers fluttering in the cool depths, and she watched, dazedly, as the blood swirled off of her fingers and mixed into the water.

"I couldn't wash the blood from my hands after I killed them," she said softly, flexing her fingers and rubbing them together.

Carl paused with another handful of water raised to his mouth, and looked over at Beth.

"There was no stream nearby. Snow was everywhere, and I wasn't gonna risk frostbite." She shrugged. "There was a lot of blood. You don't think there will be, but a human body has about ten pints of blood, give or take." She smiled wanly. "Daddy taught me that." Her blue eyes flashed towards Carl. "When we were fixing you up." She then went back to washing her hands.

The conversational tone, and the trivial bits of information she offered up were such a contrast to the quick, precise manner in which she'd gutted the man who had threatened them that morning, that Carl could only stare silently. He'd never seen Beth kill before. She'd told him she'd done as much, yes, but watching her in action had been completely different. And yet, the way she'd moved, and the way she'd handled herself, and the knife, seemed to be almost second nature, something that Carl understood all too well. He knew what she was afraid of: the monster that they all carried within them. It was a scary thought, especially when you didn't know when that monster was going to surface. He wondered if Beth even remembered it happening, or if she was so far removed from it that it seemed like a photographs in an album, a filmstrip in her mind.

They filled their bottles after drinking their fill, and then headed back onto the road. The light was lower, and the rain Beth had predicted for the day before was threatening to make an appearance. Carl hated the rain, especially outside of the camp. It made it hard to move, and hard to track (according to Daryl's teaching), and it made everything the same gray, dreary color. Finding one's direction proved difficult, too, but when Beth started up the road with a sure step, Carl didn't ask questions. He figured that she knew how to take care of herself. He'd just have to keep up.

* * *

There hadn't been time to gather much after I'd killed her. I didn't know how long it was going to take for her to turn, and I didn't know when the other two would be back. I managed to find a heavy parka with a deep hood, and a pair of boots that were a size too big, but I'd learned early on in this new life that beggars couldn't be choosers. I shrugged the coat on, pulling the zipper up to my neck, and then shoved my feet into the boots. There were no mittens to be seen, but my eyes landed on an even better prize: there, leaning in the back of the closet, was a Winchester shotgun, with a bolt-action loader. I'd used something similar at the prison, and as I pulled it into my hands and checked the chamber, I felt a tiny spark of relief. I knew how to use this.

There was food in the cupboards, that much I knew. The three of them must have hit the mother-lode wherever they'd been scouting. Having a vehicle to come up and down the mountain helped, too. I didn't take much at first, and grabbed a package of fig newtons and some tinned pineapple, knowing that I could drink the juice, too. I stuffed my rations into the coat pockets, and found half a box of ammo for the rifle. I stashed that too, and then headed for the door. By then, I could hear the first guttural groans of the newly risen walker in what had recently been my prison. Having left the limbs intact, it would soon be mobile, but it still had the door to deal with. I didn't push my luck any further, and trampled out the door of the cabin and down the rough porch stairs.

It was clear that night, thankfully, and I glanced up, easily finding the North Star. I turned south, stalking into the immediate woods. When I'd gone deep enough, I slung the rifle over my shoulder, climbed the closest fir tree, and huddled up in the pine needles, my eyes fixed on the tiny cabin.

Viewing it from the outside put things in perspective. For the first time since I'd been taken, I breathed a free breath, and held it, the cold of it stinging my lungs and seeming to wake me up from a very long nightmare. I watched the cabin, nibbling on fig newtons, cursing when I realized that I needed a can opener for the pineapple. My fingers weren't strong enough to use the knife; I couldn't afford cutting a hand at this point.

The crumbs of stale cake and sticky fig caught in my throat, but I choked them down anyway, careful not to overtax my fragile stomach. There had to be a can opener in the cabin. And some first aid supplies. Water. As I fantasized about supplies I could hoard, I went over how I might kill the other two people once they made their way back. They'd expect me to run, I knew, after suffering so long at their hands; who wouldn't run, as far and as fast as they could? But I was patient, a skill taught by a man who'd made the forest his safe-house from an early age. I could wait them out. I turned the knife over and over again, the blade flashing in the scant light coming from the half moon overhead. I could wait them out. And I'd make it worth my while.

* * *

Beth swore sharply as she moved from one patch of crushed moss to another, scanning frantically for signs that Rick or Daryl or both had come through ahead of them. According to Carl, they were close to the house; he recognized this stretch of forest. In another hour, they'd reach their shelter, but this news didn't seem to excited Beth. Instead, it made her more agitated, and her mouth was a hard line of determination, her eyes sharp, cold, and blue.

"C'mon," she muttered, gently pushing aside leaves and touching the dirt. "C'mon, Daryl, gimme _somethin'_ to go on."

"Maybe they came through another way?" Carl called out, trying to sound hopeful. He knew the idea was a stretch, but it wasn't completely unfathomable. After all, he and Beth had gotten plenty turned around after their night in the woods, and had cut across in an arc, covering ground Carl hadn't ventured through before.

Beth grunted a reply, more just an acknowledgment that Carl had said something. At least she wasn't being eerily silent anymore. That had freaked Carl out - Beth had always been so chatty, her high, clear voice always having something to say.

Carl paused as Beth did, and he watched her turn back the way they'd come. She frowned, and toed the dirt with her boot. "This ain't right," she sighed, shaking her head. "They should have come through here by now."

"They could already be at the house, waiting for us," Carl continued with his theory, even though he knew it wasn't exactly a solid one. If his dad and Daryl _had_ beat them back to the house, then they would have doubled back as soon as they realized Beth and Carl weren't there. Carl squinted through the dim, early evening light, thankful the rain had let up, and searched the trees for any sign of movement.

Pursing her lips, Beth shook her head once more and then sagged against a nearby tree. "No. No, they're still out there," she muttered, kicking her heel back into the tree. With a determined set to her jaw, she pushed off, and moved back into the woods, away from the house.

"What are you doing?" Carl called. "The house is this way." He nodded back towards the direction they had been heading.

"Goin' back for em," Beth replied. She cast Carl a look from over her shoulder. "Daryl woulda done the same thing." She paused for a moment. "Daryl _did_ do the same thing."

"No way," Carl said, shaking his head. He approached Beth and blocked her way. "If Daryl didn't kill me for letting you go after him, then Maggie would. Daryl's perfectly capable of making his way through the woods…"

"So am I," Beth interjected, raising an eyebrow.

"I know that," Carl nodded. "And you're better than I am. I need you," he shrugged. "Help me get back to the house. We'll rest, get some food and some water. If they're not back by first light tomorrow, I'll go out again with you."

"I'm better on my own," Beth offered flippantly.

Carl gave her a wry grin. "Sure. But Beth...please? We shouldn't be out here after dark."

He could see her weighing her options, hesitant to take him, but also hesitant to leave him. Finally, she gave a small nod. "All right."

* * *

The sun rose like it did any other day, but I hadn't seen it for so long that for a moment, it took my breath away. The cold didn't seem to bother me as the sky lightened from lavender, to pink and peach, orange, and then finally, gold. The sunlight splashed through the dark-tipped pines, and washed over the mountain side, and the peaks in the distance. It bathed the cabin in honeyed warmth, and it didn't seem like such a bad place. But then, through the frosted, still air, and the stirring of wings in the boughs above and below me, I heard it: the groaning, and growling, of the reanimated corpse of the woman. It wasn't much longer after that the sound of tires squealing over hard packed snow filled my ears. Snow, and cold, always amplify sound; I kept my breath calm, in slowly through my nose, out slowly through my mouth.

_Holdin' yer breath makes ya that much noisier,_ he'd said once. _Cuz when you finally do take that breath, it's a gasp, an' it's loud. Breathe like you normally would. Keep your hands steady._

I blinked away the ice that had formed on my eyelashes, and I wiggled my toes in my boots, and then took check of my fingers. All extremities were accounted for; I think my thirst and hunger were overshadowed by the adrenaline of the hunt. And hunting was exactly what I was doing.

The beater of a car - an old Pontiac of some sort, brown, faded, with a cracked windshield, and a broken antenna - crawled slowly under the tree where I sat, pointed in the direction of the cabin. I'd never seen the car in the daylight; hell, I'd never seen the car from the outside. I was, however, well acquainted with the trunk.

_Another trunk of a car, this one hot, and cramped, but so much safer than the one that came after. I hadn't been alone. He'd been curled up right behind me, his gaze steady as we waited for a herd to pass. He'd dragged me with him, telling me we had to go, and I'd gone, because I didn't know what else to do._

A dull ache formed in my jaw, and I realized I was clenching my teeth, watching as the car parked, and the two men who'd spent the winter torturing me piled out. The grey eyed man - I knew it was him from where I perched as he was the shorter of the two - said something, making the other one shrug and then pitch his cigarette. He then moved to the back door and pulled out a duffel that was stuffed with whatever they'd found, wherever they'd been. Together, they clambered up the steps of the cabin, and moved inside.

I steadied myself, stretching out on the branch, and holding the rifle up, aiming through the sight. I centered the crosshairs on the door, and continued to breath, listening now for commotion to start.

It didn't take long. There was a scuffle, and surprised curses rang out of the little wooden shack, followed by a dull thud. Heavy footsteps trampled through the shelter, and, just as I predicted, the front door was thrown open, and there, right in my sights, was the second man.

My finger moved with no signal from my brain, and I caressed it, pulling it back smoothly. The bullet hit him in the thigh before the _crack_ was heard, and he screamed sharply, clutching his wounded leg, and collapsed on the front steps. Blood spewed forth in a sweeping arc, and it stained the snow that had piled up around the steps. I hadn't been aiming for a kill shot. That would have been too easy, too painless. I wanted them to bleed out slowly, to know what it felt like to fear for their lives. The amount of blood that had exploded when the bullet hit told me that I'd at the very least nicked the femoral artery. They didn't have the supplies, or the knowledge to fix something like that. He'd bleed out in a manner of hours, and there would be only one left.

The grey eyed man appeared, shouting at his partner, yelling at him to get up, to get inside, "that little blonde bitch ain't here." He grabbed his fallen friend's jacket and tugged him back inside the cabin, as his grey eyes searched frantically for my hiding spot. When he'd safely pulled his partner inside, he cast one more glance into the woods, and then slammed the door shut.

I waited up in that tree until nightfall, when a a strangled cry tore through the air. I sat still and cocked my ear, wondering what gruesome thing had just happened. Was the man I'd shot now a walker? Had he torn into the guts of the grey-eyed man? I could only be so lucky. During the day there had been movement in the trees as the sun warmed the southern slopes of the mountains. Spring was coming, and with it, the walkers that had frozen with the onset of winter were now thawing, and oozing around in melting puddles of snow and blood and flesh. They were sluggish, but determined, it seemed, and I watched them pass underneath my perch, as I remained undetected. As the sun went down, however, their movements slowed as temperatures dropped once more. It was time to move, to make my final push. I needed to get out. That had been my goal all along - to get out, out of the trunk, out of the cabin, out of the mountains, and out of myself, or the thing I had become. I still had a long way to go.


End file.
